


A Beautiful Chaos

by akitheshark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Not Endgame Related at All, One Shot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pub! AU, So basically Coffeeshop AU but make it 1700s, This was an AP Lit Assignment?, not a fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitheshark/pseuds/akitheshark
Summary: Your average Stucky Coffeeshop AU- but make it 1700s.





	A Beautiful Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> Background: This was an AP Lit assignment- write a one-page story in the style of Dickens. So here it is- a Stucky Pub AU in the style of Charles Dickens. Obviously, because I was limited to one page, this is quite short, but if you'd like me to continue it, please let me know and I will do so! (And if you'd like the rest to be more informally written, I can do that for sure.)

It was a Saturday night in mid-May in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and sixty-two. Shield Pub, located on Cheshire Court, was seemingly hollowed, dead, almost, from a distance, not out of place in such a small town with such few inhabitants, where light leaves with the sunset and there seems not even to be a hush after a certain hour; but if you were to look inside a dust-framed window to see the events occurring in Shield, you would be struck with a feeling of surprise, soon followed by a warmth you had not felt before; whatever you had expected to see in the window, it had not been a room far from hollow or dead, with a few oil lamps hanging from the brick ceiling, accompanied by candles on various tables carved from the most mediocre of pine, with groups of the most rambunctious of men in town huddled around these tables, ale spilling from their pints with every robust laugh and shout, altogether creating a symphony of a beautiful chaos, and in the center of this beautiful chaos, was a certain Steven Grant Rogers, the embodiment of beautiful chaos itself. 

He was a man that could only be described as petit, with limbs of twigs, and a stature that could not even compare to those of the women, and a set of lungs so frail that with every breath one might be suddenly overcome with a fear of his sudden passing. But with this man that was so often mistaken for an urchin was a head of hair spun with the finest of gold threads, eyes the color of what one could only imagine was the sky, a sparkling pale blue as was often depicted in so very many paintings, some even being Steven’s own work, before the smog and dust had clouded it with the dullest of grays, and the fiercest, the fieriest of spirits, as per the many townspeople's claims; to older women, he was often the largest cause for concern, to the more violently-inclined young men, he was simply yet another poorly structured wall in their way to destroy, to the young women, he was the source of their giggles and not at all of their admirations, and to Steven himself, he was merely an individual who often wondered why he was the way he was, for it often hindered his never-ceasing fight for what he, and often, only he, believed was just in the world. 

However, on this particular Saturday, Steven’s fight for justice was hindered by the night shift at Shield, an occupation he had no choice but to accept, as money was running dry, and his mother, his poor mother, whom he had loved with every piece of his feeble heart, had run a fever burning more than the fire of Steven’s spirit, and had passed in the month of January; his father had died before Steven had even been born, in the most unfortunate of accidents, what had taken place specifically, his mother refused to speak of. He filled the probable thousandth pint of the night for a guest who had most likely overstayed his time at Shield and a few strands of golden hair fell loose, choosing not to be pulled back like the rest, just as the opening of the front door, leading to the jingle of the bells hung above, startled Steven from his wandering thoughts he had been occupied with. Turning to get a look at his next patron was a grave blunder, or so he would think just for that night, as he was greeted by a man that could only be described as an angel sent by the Lord himself, or herself; Steven did not consider himself to be very particular about these sorts of things. 

This presence that seemed to be brighter than every flickering light in the brick building was the most beautiful creature Steven had ever laid his eyes on; he had only ever read of love in the few books he had managed to obtain and had only heard of it in the gossip of the townspeople and in the pining of the midnight patrons, but he was certain that this was what love was; he was unsure of what other feeling could feel this powerful, enveloping his body, his mind, his very soul; the flame began burning even brighter than thought possible, with a passion Steven hadn’t even been sure he could ever experience. His fingers itched to sketch, no, to make a masterpiece, of every sharp angle, every smooth curve of this god’s face, of his silky long chestnut hair tied back with a simple black ribbon, of his gray eyes that were very much unlike the drab unfeeling sky, but rather like the ash and smoke that resulted from the fires burning deep in Steven’s soul, that surely must have held secrets so heavy that Steven could not even begin to imagine the burden that must come with such things, of the cheekbones that surely could cut through the hardest of metals, of the way he carried himself with an air of confidence Steven could only aspire to imitate in even merely his dreams; however, Steven was fairly certain even an artist with his expertise couldn’t do justice to the ethereal man that was approaching him at that very moment; however, Steven was so dazed by this man’s presence that he hadn’t noticed that he was speaking to Steven himself. 

“...James Buchanan Barnes, in case you wished to know.” Steven blinked out of the haze he had been captured by to be greeted by James’s honey-soaked voice and the most stunning of smiles, revealing surprisingly nice teeth, and promptly swooned.


End file.
